


Symptomatic Love- The Good Doctor: Shaun Murphy X Reader Oneshot

by Liv4Writing



Category: The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: Autism, Diabetes, Doctor/Patient, F/M, Hospitals, Medical Conditions, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liv4Writing/pseuds/Liv4Writing
Summary: You are a newly diagnosed Type 1 Diabetic, and you find yourself at San Jose St. Bonaventure Hospital under the care of Dr. Shaun Murphy. Although he has a strange way of communicating with you and seems to disagree with the other doctors in the hospital due to his autism, you find him enticing and his thought processes fascinating. As you struggle with the new responsibilities and stresses of your diagnosis, you find yourself going out of your way to spend more time with Dr. Murphy and discover a way into his unique mind.Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, actors, settings, etc. of the TV show "The Good Doctor." All rights belong to ABC and its respective owners.





	Symptomatic Love- The Good Doctor: Shaun Murphy X Reader Oneshot

**Trigger Warnings: Medical stuff, needles, uh... yea. Stuff like that. No surgery or anything but some pretty graphic descriptions. Also some brief mentions of depression.**

_How did this happen?_  
_How did I get here?_  
A deep rattling sensation seemed to be strumming your bones, vibrating even the teeth in your head. Your vision was blurry and you could hear the faint buzz of voices around you. Where they in your head, or outside of it? You blinked slowly, trying to clear your vision to no avail and even shaking your head for an extra dose of clarity.  
You bit back a cry as a wave of nausea rushed through you, traveling from your stomach to your throat. You HATED throwing up. You would not throw up. You swallowed it down bitterly and shivered as the rattling continued to move through your body.  
Your body itself was shaking too, vibrating out of sync with the rattling. What was this, an earthquake? Something soft brushed your hand and you were a bit startled, but too out of it to locate the source. The voices began coming to you with more clarity. "(Y/N). (Y/N), stay with us." You didn't want to stay. Why stay? No one would notice if you were gone.  
The voices continued.  
"What's wrong with her? Any medical history?"  
"No, doesn't seem like it. Wait, actually- some records of previous doctor's visits for symptoms of chills and nausea."  
"And where did her neighbor say he found her?"  
"Shaking like this on the couch, surrounded in vomit, almost unconscious..."  
Had you thrown up on yourself? Oh, gross. The voices faded back to a dull murmur as you tried to keep your eyes from slipping closed.

When you opened your eyes next, piercing fluorescent bulbs stared back at you. You were either in a school or some kind of doctor's office... or maybe you'd been kidnapped to be used for lab experimentation?! You waited anxiously for the evil Dr. Schneeplestein to approach and jab you with a long needle. **(If you didn't get that reference, sorry.)**  
By the looks of the stretcher that you were laying on and the flimsy mint-green gown wrapped around you, a hospital scenario seemed more likely.  
As you struggled to sit up and set off some beeping mechanical device in the process, a young female doctor rushed into your room. She tossed back the room's curtain with urgency and threw down her clipboard as soon as she saw you sitting up. She had caramel skin, hair curled in tight ringlets and a confident look about her. Her sense of calm transferred over to you.  
"Hello there, Miss (Y/N), glad to see you awake. My name is Dr. Claire Browne and I'm... taking care of you for right now. We're very busy today so we'll be rotating doctors often. Not to worry!" she exclaimed hurriedly. "You're in good hands."  
"Ah... thanks, Dr. Browne. Uh... this is gonna sound kinda dumb but... why am I here?"  
Dr. Browne barely stopped to look at you, moving around you in a fast circle and setting up a machine to check your blood pressure.  
You were already hooked up to an IV, but to your horror, she mentioned, "Now that you're awake, I'll have to do a blood test. I'm sorry."  
"S'fine," you mumbled, and noticed you were still shaking.  
"The doctors all have an idea about what's wrong with you, but we need some information first. What's the last thing you remember?"  
"I was, uh... watching TV. And eating dinner."  
Dr. Browne perked up at this. "Eating what, specifically?"  
"What, do you think I'm allergic to something? It was just pizza. I've eaten pizza my whole life."  
"You're not allergic to anything," a monotone voice rang out.  
You craned your neck to see the new doctor as he entered your room. He didn't look like most doctors you'd had in the past, but then neither did Dr. Browne.  
This new doctor had a mop of brown hair on his head and intelligent blue eyes that darted around the room in an unnatural fashion.  
They landed on you for a heartbeat before moving to Dr. Browne.  
"We can't rule anything out yet, Shaun," Dr. Browne mumbled under her breath, although it seemed like her confidence had ticked down a notch, like this doctor made her unsure of herself.  
"Her symptoms are clear. Shaking, vomiting, we tested her blood glucose and it's 478. She needs liquids to flush the ketones and insulin. If she does not receive these she will fall into diabetic ketoacidosis and possibly a coma."  
Your eyebrows furrowed.  
"I have what? Diabetes? No, I eat healthy and I exercise. That can't be right."  
"It is right," the doctor- Shaun- said, taking a step toward you.  
"Type 1 Diabetes is usually caused by an attack on the pancreas by a virus and has little to do with weight or diet."  
He stepped toward you again and despite your fear, you felt a rush of safety.  
As a general rule, you hated hospitals. When you breathed in the air you tasted death and tears, and the bathrooms smelled too heavily of urine. You'd been in the hospital once before as a child when you'd had a serious case of the flu, and never had a desire to go back.  
You hated the long waits, the arrogance and entitlement of the doctors.  
But this man... he was different. He would take care of you. His knowing eyes told you that he would not stop, and he would certainly make no mistakes.  
"What do I do about all of this?" you whispered hoarsely.  
"Shaun, you haven't even introduced yourself and you're going on about diabetic ketoacidosis! We don't know that for sure," Dr. Browne hissed, pushing the other doctor aside like a nosy dog.  
"I'm sorry. I'm Dr. Shaun Murphy. You are already on intravenous therapy, but you will need more water."  
The man turned on his heel and walked away without another word.  
"I'm sorry about that," Dr. Browne said, but you noticed that she went to the sink and filled you a glass of water. "He can get a bit excited sometimes."  
"But is he right? What's diabetes?"  
Dr. Browne sighed.  
"Type 1 Diabetes is a disease that occurs when a virus attacks the body's pancreas and stops its production of insulin, a material that breaks down food. It's merely a possibility. We'll have to run tests and I'll have to consult with the other doctors before I give you a full diagnosis."  
Panic seized your chest. Were you going to die? You'd always wondered if people would care if you were gone, and now it looked like you might find out.  
You began to breathe quickly again, and concern flashed on Dr. Browne's face.  
"Don't worry. (Y/N), don't worry. Only about 10% of the American population have diabetes, and even fewer have Type 1."  
She smiled thinly and wheeled some of the machines back away from your bed.  
"I'll be back."  
She left the room, the curtain swishing closed behind her.  
You grabbed for the glass of water and downed it, strangely parched despite the IV.

Only a few minutes passed before the curtain moved again. You looked up expecting Dr. Browne but found Dr. Murphy instead.  
"Hi," you whispered.  
Shaun moved to your bedside without a word and began stringing up some new wires and a bag of fluid to a machine. It looked similar to the IV drip, but you weren't sure.  
"What's that?" you asked, but he didn't answer.  
You still felt safe- safer almost than you had with Dr. Browne. Maybe she followed protocols and consulted with other doctors, but that would be no good to you while you were waiting and possibly dying.  
"I'm going to die," you murmured, more to yourself than the young doctor before you. He looked down at you with determination.  
"No. Type 1 Diabetes is treatable with insulin. I'm giving that to you now."  
"Is it curable, though?" you asked.  
"Dr. Browne said I scared you," he said instead of answering your question. "She said I shouldn't use words like "ketoacidosis", especially when we don't know for certain what the cause of an issue is. But I don't understand, because I know the cause. I should tell you about it."  
Dr. Murphy finished his work attaching insulin to the machine, and now reached for your other arm, the one not hooked up to an IV.  
You flinched away from him slightly. Though you were 19, you'd never quite outgrown your childhood fear of needles. You weren't sure if anyone really became accustomed to needles.  
Dr. Murphy hesitated.  
"You don't like to be touched," he stated, not quite a question.  
"No, I don't mind that, I just... hate needles."  
"I'm a doctor," he stated as if he needed to clarify.  
"I know," you answered.  
"I'll be gentle," he insisted.  
His soft, cold fingers found your forearm and pushed up your sleeve, grazing over your skin until he found a suitable spot to insert the drip. You winced when it went in and involuntarily reached out, seeking comfort. You ended up grabbing the doctor's other sleeve, but Dr. Murphy's hands didn't even waver until he was done.  
"You're going to take care of me," you said, relieved.  
A small smile flashed across his face. "Yes," he said simply.  
When he finished and stood up straight again, you expected him to ask you if you needed anything else. Instead, he glanced down at your fingers still attached to his sleeve, gingerly removed them, and went to leave.  
You let out a little whine of distress. You didn't want to be alone at a time like this, a time when you'd just been told that you had some kind of crazy disease and you had yet to be informed of the cure. You lived alone with no family or friends nearby, hence why your neighbor had been the one to find you. There was no one around to comfort you.  
Dr. Murphy turned when you let out a small squeak. He gave you a once-over with those exploratory eyes of his, and you felt your face begin to turn pink as his eyes lingered on you.  
"What is your name?" he asked, approaching you again.  
"(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)," you managed.  
"(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), you look flushed," Dr. Murphy said.  
You only flushed more at his words. "Diabetics who are nearing diabetic ketoacidosis usually have chills but it can come with hot and cold flashes." He moved to fiddle with the thermostat in the room.  
"No!" you said, and he turned to look at you curiously. "I just... uh..."  
You could tell by this point that there was something off about Dr. Murphy. His willingness to break protocol and his surety about your diagnosis differed from Dr. Browne's confidence. He seemed to view his own opinions as fact, and the demeanor was helped along by his monotone voice and rigid actions.  
"When you look at me like that, I just get nervous," you admitted.  
Dr. Murphy let his hand drop from the thermostat.  
"I did not mean to make you anxious, (Y/N)."  
"No, not anxious, just... nervous. In a good way."  
"Nervous in a good way? I... I don't understand."  
It was the first time you'd heard him stutter or be unsure of something.  
"Me either."  
Shaun moved back over to your bedside and checked your heart rate monitor. You could feel your heart speed up as he leaned into your side and were horrified to see your heartbeat change on the monitor, too. "Your heart rate is speeding up," Dr. Murphy stated.  
"This is not a symptom of diabetes. I will have to ask Dr. Browne. She knows about feelings like nervousness."  
You reached out to protest, but he was already scurrying out of the room like a busy mouse.

A few minutes later, an attractive doctor entered the room. He had a sharp jawline and a short, military style haircut. He walked like a man confident in his ability to perform surgery blindfolded, and it unsettled you. He gave you a reassuring smile, but it was false, and you shifted away as he approached you.  
"Hello (Y/N), my name is Dr. Neil Melendez. Judging by your symptoms, you may have Type 1 Diabetes. If this is true, although I'll need to get some more confirmation, this is going to be a major life adjustment. I'd recommend staying in our hospital for a week or so and attending some classes to teach you how to deal with the disease. It can be very emotionally trying, and we want to be here for you however we can. Now, before I hook you up to an insulin drip-"  
You lifted an eyebrow at him and raised the arm with your newly attached insulin drip.  
Dr. Melendez frowned and moved over to you.  
"We haven't confirmed your diagnosis yet. Did Dr. Browne give this to you?"  
"No, Dr. Murphy did," you replied easily.  
The lack of communication in this hospital was starting to piss you off a tiny bit, as well as the thought of staying in San Jose St. Bonaventure Hospital for a week. You hated hospitals and were wary of doctors. You'd lived alone and taken care of yourself practically as soon as you turned 15 and could start applying for jobs. You liked to do things your own way and didn't trust other people not to screw it up.  
For instance, ever since you'd gotten food poisoning at a restaurant a few years ago, you had never gone out to eat again. You had taken it upon yourself to buy cookbooks and thrown yourself into learning how to make meals better than any restaurant.  
It wasn't that you thought you were better than everyone else at their jobs- you just didn't trust anyone but yourself.  
You were brought back to the present as Dr. Melendez tugged a bit too roughly on the insulin drip machine. He closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Shaun, I swear to God..."  
"What happened? Am I not supposed to be hooked up to this?" you asked, panic rising in your voice.  
"No, you probably are." Dr. Melendez rolled his eyes. "I just wish he'd tell us first."  
"Probably?!"  
No sooner had Dr. Melendez left, turning to the right out of the room and promising that you were perfectly safe, Dr. Murphy came rushing in from the opposite direction.  
"I tried to ask Claire about the symptom of nervousness, but she laughed at me," he said sadly.  
His eyes flitted over to the insulin drip. "You'll need to start on insulin injections as soon as possible, but that will be in the morning."  
Now his eyes flashed to a clock hanging on the wall.  
"It is almost lights out. I'll monitor you throughout the night."  
You could barely keep up with how fast his trains of thought bounced around.  
He moved to leave.  
"Shaun!" you called out, using his first name because of the feeling of comfort he gave you.  
You winced at your accidental impoliteness. Shaun froze, his eyes focused on the ground.  
"Dr. Murphy. Sorry. But you work the night shift too?" you asked.  
"No," he said shortly.  
He didn't seem to want to keep the conversation going, but you didn't want to be left alone with all these needles in your arms and thoughts in your head.

"You said I'm not going to die. But you also didn't say there was a cure."  
"There is no cure for Type 1 Diabetes," he said, like it was obvious.  
Your heart plummeted.  
"But you're a surgeon, aren't you? And all of this has to do with my pancreas. So just... do surgery. Restart my pancreas, or something."  
"I cannot restart your pancreas," he said, and for just a moment, there was a flash of sorrow in his gaze.  
"I would have to give you a new one, which I cannot do."  
"Why?" you asked, frustrated.  
He didn't answer. Maybe he didn't know any more than you did.  
"You seem really smart, Dr. Murphy. Surely there must be a solution," you pleaded.  
"There is an artificial pancreas, but it is experimental," he replied.  
He turned and moved towards you, brushing his fingers carelessly over your stomach on the spot where you assumed your dead pancreas now lay. Your breath caught.  
"I'm not supposed to give false hope," he said.  
"I don't think you could give me false hope. I've been let down too many times already," you said, aware of how pessimistic you sounded.  
Maybe you should jump for joy, grasp at the chance of some kind of artificial pancreas. But you knew all too well about experimental treatments and how unlikely they were to work.  
You watched his fingers move across you as if he'd forgotten they were there. You breathed in a little too sharply and he stopped, looking into your eyes suddenly.  
"You've had struggles with depression." He said it as if he were stating that the sky is blue.  
"Is it that obvious," you said with a laugh.  
"No, not physically obvious. But I can tell."  
"How?"  
When he didn't answer, you tried again. "Dr. Murphy, they want to keep me in this hospital for a week."  
"They won't want you to learn to give insulin injections right away," he said. "I will work on the artificial pancreas, but you can learn how to give injections yourself now. You are smart, you can do it."  
"But if they won't teach me, how am I supposed to learn? Will you teach me?"  
Shaun thought about it, zoning out for a minute and squinting his eyes as if analyzing something you couldn't see. You looked in the direction he was looking, but it was just a wall.  
"Dr. Murphy?" you pressed. "Please."  
"I am not a very good teacher, but I can show you tomorrow morning."  
As soon as he finished his sentence, the lights flicked off with a click, as if on cue.  
"I have to go," Dr. Murphy said. "Couldn't you stay here?" you said hurriedly, suddenly afraid to be alone.  
You didn't know if you could handle a permanent disease on top of your depression. You didn't want it to set you off into another depressive episode, although you were anticipating just that. Having someone else in the room with you, even just a pretty, blue-eyed doctor, would take some of the weight off of you.  
Shaun fidgeted. "I have to go," he repeated, but his eyes rested on your face. "Now you are anxious," he realized. He paced a few times across the room.  
"You do need someone to monitor your blood glucose levels," he acknowledged. Finally, he pulled a wheelie chair out from where it was tucked under a cabinet and sat on it hard, his back straight, his feet planted on the tile.  
"I will wait here for 12 minutes," he said.  
"How am I supposed to fall asleep with you staring at me like that?" you mumbled.  
"I'm not staring, I'm monitoring."  
"But you're looking right into my eyes."  
"They're (your/eye/color)."  
"Yes, I know. Are they not supposed to be? Do I have eye-abetes now too?"  
"There is no such thing as eye-abetes. I like your eyes."  
You closed them, embarrassed.  
The waves of nausea were gone and you were starting to feel less dehydrated. With Shaun watching over you like some strange sort of guardian angel, you almost felt safe enough to fall asleep. You felt yourself drifting off until the painful tugs in your arms reminded you of where you were. When you opened your eyes next, Shaun was gone as if he'd never been there at all.

***********************************

Your eyes flashed open, and for a minute you weren't sure why. You looked to your right and Dr. Browne stood next to you, her curly hair illuminated in a halo of pale light. She was pricking your finger with a small needle, and the sting of pain had awoken you. You watched as she squeezed a drop of blood onto a rectangular paper strip attached to a tiny machine.  
"Sorry," she whispered with a sad smile. "Routine blood test."  
The little machine beeped and she glanced at the screen.  
"341. You're coming down."  
"So I don't have diabetes?" you asked hopefully.  
"No... I'm so sorry, but we've confirmed that you do. It's just good that your numbers are coming down, because it means you won't go into a coma or shock. We'll take you off the insulin drip in the morning."  
You tried to read the clock on the wall but couldn't make out the numbers in the dim light.  
You glanced at Dr. Browne's face, gauging whether or not it was safe to ask her. You decided to go for it. "Where's Dr. Murphy?"  
"Shaun? Oh." Dr. Browne looked around the room in surprise. "He was sitting here with you for a really long time. He's so quiet sometimes... I didn't even notice he was gone. Actually, he's been back and forth to the lab, working on something with the 3D printer. One of his personal projects, probably."  
"An artificial pancreas!" you said excitedly.  
Dr. Browne's eyes widened.  
"What- no. No. Please don't tell me he promised you an artificial pancreas."  
"Well, he didn't promise, but-"  
"I should go find Dr. Glassman," Dr. Browne said before rushing out of the room. You could hear her voice echoing down the hallway.  
"Shaun? Shaun!"

You waited a few minutes, hoping for Shaun to come speeding in with an artificial pancreas in hand, but no one came swishing through your curtain.  
Carefully, you sat up, kicking some of the blankets off of yourself. It was terribly cold in your room, and you wondered if Shaun had messed up the thermostat after all. Nonetheless, you didn't like sleeping with blankets that other people had been sick in, possibly died in. You shuddered.  
You stood from your bed, glancing around the room for any sort of alarms or security cameras that would alert someone to your movement.  
You didn't notice any besides a small white device on the side table that you could use to call for help.  
You reached out for both your insulin drip and your IV, wincing when the wheels squeaked. You froze as two laughing voices passed by your curtain, accompanied by heavy footsteps. Neither sounded like Dr. Murphy. You didn't know him well enough yet, but he didn't seem like the type who laughed often, either.  
A sense of urgency overtook you. You had to find him. It didn't help that Dr. Browne was looking for him too, but the fact that he kept disobeying orders and working harder to find better treatments for you excited you. It was like you were trapped in a prison and he was trying to break you out, the two of you working together against the rest of the hospital. It didn't seem like Dr. Browne and Dr. Melendez were bad people- maybe just people who followed protocol a little too closely. They would follow it even if it resulted in your death.  
You poked your head out of the curtain. It was hard to be sneaky when you were dressed in a bright green hospital gown and attached to two poles with wheels, but you were doing your best.  
Where had Dr. Browne said Shaun was? In the lab? Where would that be?  
You looked around for some kind of directory, and then stopped with a jolt as you noticed the front desk. A sleepy secretary sat in it, doing something on her computer and taking a sip of coffee every few moments. You felt a pang of sympathy for her. Sitting up like that all night must be a hard job- at least the doctors got to move around and busy themselves.  
Still, you had to sneak around her somehow. It wasn't like you could claim you were looking for the bathroom when there was a bathroom right in your room.  
Was there something else you could be looking for? A phone? No, there was probably one at the front desk.  
You could just claim you wanted to stretch your legs. After lying in bed all day, no one would blame you.  
Or it might just be fun to sneak past her like you were a super secret spy.  
The desk was rectangular in the front but rounded out in back, and the back rose up much higher than the edge of the front, leaving room to display the hospital's logo in the center.

You backtracked a few steps and pressed yourself to the rounded part of the desk, inching along and following the curve. After a few seconds you stopped and carried the machines manually so they wouldn't make so much noise. You accidentally bumped into the pole of the IV machine, and along with a painful tug on your vein, you were rewarded with an irritated beeping noise.  
You stopped and peered nervously around the edge of the desk. The secretary was now sitting up alertly and looking around in confusion. She stood and pushed back from the desk, heading to a nearby room to check if the noise had come from there. Now was your chance.  
From your position, you spied an elevator and some stairs. The elevator would make too much noise and draw out the secretary, but maybe you could manage the stairs if you pulled the machines down step by step.  
You moved carefully but quickly and ended up looking like a clumsy gazelle, taking giant leaps but attempting to be graceful so you didn't knock the IV over. You reached the stairs without incident and decided to go down on a whim. A lab was probably likely to be in the basement, where the air was cooler and would preserve important specimens.  
You began the careful process of dragging the machines down the steps. _Just like trying to drag the vacuum cleaner downstairs,_ you thought, trying not to panic. Considering these were attached to you, you'd have to be just slightly more careful. You usually ended up kicking the vacuum cleaner down the stairs in frustration, letting it bash into the wall on the way down. That wouldn't fly this time.  
You let out a sigh of relief once you reached the bottom of the stairs (with some pain in your arms). There were no other stairs around and checking the directory confirmed that you were in the basement.  
_I hope Shaun's still down here,_ you thought.  
No sooner had you finished the thought than Shaun appeared, rushing through a door midway down the hallway and making sure to shut and lock it behind him. When he saw you standing like a beacon with your IV and drip, he rushed towards you.  
"You are not supposed to be down here," he said, seeming out of breath. "You know, Dr. Browne told me that you're not supposed to work on the artificial pancreas," you said, almost scolding.  
"I know. It is experimental. But I can do it."  
His determination gave you confidence. "Can I see what you're working on?" you asked, looking down at your feet nervously. You glanced back up at Shaun.  
His eyes lit up. "Yes!" He walked briskly back to the door and unlocked it with a set of keys attached to his doctor's uniform.  
Like a gentleman, he motioned for you to step inside first. You were very aware of his presence behind you as he locked the door.  
"Wow."  
You'd never been in this sort of lab before, and had thought somehow that they existed only in movies. You'd been in science labs back in high school, of course, but those were old. You were used to rusty sinks and long black tables speckled with students' gum.  
This lab was all in modern shades of white and blue, the desks, cabinets, and testing containers covered with blue paint and patches of frosted glass, every surface kept carefully spotless. Test tubes and containers were carefully lined up in holders, awaiting the tests and experimentation of the next day.  
Only one machine in the room was moving- a large black cylinder encased in glass. Robot arms in the center of the device were turning and molding a small white shape that resembled a circle more than a pancreas.  
"Is that it?" you asked, disappointed. Shaun didn't answer you and went over to the printer to fiddle with it.  
"Shaun?"  
When you still received no response, you sighed and looked around the lab.  
You moved instead to a nearby computer tucked in the corner to do some browsing. You figured you might catch up on some social media or even let your parents know what was going on. Not that they cared.  
You opened Google and stared at it, deciding on a whim to type in "Type 1 Diabetes." You may as well take the time to learn about this disease you now had. You hesitated over the Enter key, and quickly added the phrase "Worst case scenario."  
Knowing you would regret it, you clicked on Images.  
**(A/N): DO NOT do this unless you have a strong stomach!**  
You didn't want to freak yourself out- you just wanted to know what you could be up against. You felt your breathing begin to quicken as you scrolled through pictures of amputated limbs and rotten feet.  
Shaun glanced over his shoulder, saw what you'd decided to look up and hurried over.  
"You are looking at the results of diabetics who did not take care of themselves," he stated. "Statistically, amputations caused by diabetes are very rare."  
You looked up at Shaun, but he was dead serious. You realized he was simply stating the facts, not trying to reassure you like Dr. Browne. If an amputation was highly likely, he would have told you that just as easily.  
You blew out a shaky breath, still not quite reassured.  
"You are panicked," Shaun said, moving towards you. "I'm not good at human contact, but it's supposed to help people who are panicked. As a doctor, I should help you."  
Now Shaun was the one who had to take a deep breath as he knelt down in front of your chair, scooting himself towards you on his knees. His face was inches from yours, and if you'd moved forward just an inch, your noses would touch. And then maybe your lips...  
Shaun awkwardly placed his arms around you. It wasn't a tight embrace, but you could appreciate how much he was genuinely trying to help. You could tell that he didn't like physical contact and you struggled with the urge to put your arms around him. Finally you gave in, throwing your arms around his neck and running your hands once through his messy hair.  
"I'm sorry, this is just all so sudden," you said, embarrassed by the tears that began to fall.  
"Actually..." Shaun cleared his throat and pulled away, clearly uncomfortable. You let him.  
"Diabetes does not have a sudden onset. Your pancreas likely used up its last reserves of insulin several months ago, so this is not sudden at all. If you had someone like me to recognize your symptoms sooner-" he cut himself off, stood, and walked away.  
You blinked, not sure what had just happened. What was he trying to say?

He moved back over to the 3D printer and stared at it for a long time. You watched him for a while before turning back to the computer and logging into Tumblr.  
You became lost in the madness of the night bloggers for what could have been hours, but was likely only a few minutes.  
Before long, Shaun strode over to you and stood behind you, peering over your shoulder. The sleeve of his arm brushed yours ever so slightly and you let out an involuntary sigh, barely catching yourself. For once, Shaun didn't call you out on your strange behavior.  
"(Y/N), your pancreas is almost finished."  
He spoke so suddenly that you startled and automatically closed Tumblr, a safety measure that you'd learned to pick up.  
"So does that mean you do surgery, and put it in, and it works? Just like that?"  
Shaun laughed, but he wouldn't meet your eyes as he did, so it was almost like he was laughing at you. Maybe he was laughing at your lack of knowledge about surgical procedures compared to his genius.  
"No, of course not. I still have to run lots of tests and get consent from the other doctors. I cannot perform a surgery like this by myself. It's experimental."  
He stood and moved to the 3D printer, watching as the machine spat out the little white circle.  
"It worked!" Shaun pumped his fist in the air and swirled it around, a sort of celebratory dance.  
You giggled, amused by his antics. Shaun's eyes fluttered over to you for a few seconds and he lowered his arm. "You're flirting with me."  
The statement was so sudden and so genuine that you didn't know how to reply. You opened and closed your mouth a few times like a fish out of water.  
"I... I am?" you questioned.  
"Yes. I learned recently that giggling like that is a sign of flirting."  
You smiled at him, willing to try out the idea. "Yea, I guess I could be. I do find you attractive, and ever since I've come into this hospital and my life has turned upside-down, I feel safe around you. You really seem to love what you do. It's like you're doing it not just for me but for yourself, and I think that really means you won't stop until you find something that works for me. Thank you for that."  
Shaun took a step towards you, the bright lights of the lab reflecting in the blue lights of his eyes. Fleeting lights that refused to focus on you for more than a few heartbeats.  
"I think I want to kiss you," Shaun said. "But I never have before."  
"I haven't either," you admitted. "But that's okay. We can try it out. Like an experimental pancreas."  
You grinned.  
Shaun looked even more interested. "Is kissing like surgery?"  
"Ha, no, I don't think-"  
Shaun moved in with precision, his lips meeting yours softly, like the placement of a final puzzle piece. It was a bit awkward since he didn't make a move to touch you, but you helped his hands find your waist. He seemed a bit nervous to explore any further, but his lips lingered on you for a long time and for a first kiss, you thought it was a pretty good one.  
When you finally pulled away from him for air, he was smiling and his eyes were focused right on you.  
"Just like surgery," he said happily.  
Before you had time to ask what he meant, you heard a female voice calling from the hallway.  
"Shaun? Dammit, Shaun!"  
It was Dr. Browne. You felt your body begin to freeze in panic.  
"Oh, I am in so much trouble," you whispered.  
"What? Why?" Shaun asked.  
"I ran from my room! I've still got all these wires attached to me!"  
You held up your arm, as if Shaun needed proof of the drip he'd attached to you.  
"Yes, I know," he said.  
You spied a closet in the back of the room and wheeled your machines towards it as fast as you could.  
"I'm hiding in the closet. Don't. Tell. Her. I'm. Here," you said, practically mouthing the last few words.  
You threw open the doors and stepped in, pulling them closed just as Dr. Browne entered the room.  
It turned out that it wasn't a closet, it was a refrigerator filled with organs and other specimens. You wrinkled your nose at the sight of half of someone's brain- maybe someone living, maybe someone dead.

"Shaun." Dr. Browne's voice carried over to you, purposefully polite. "Claire," he answered.  
"The patient (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N) is missing from her room."  
"Yes."  
"Do you have any idea why? Maybe something to do with why the fridge door just moved?"  
"Oh." Shaun laughed. "(Y/N)'s hiding in there."  
"In the refrigerator?!"  
You rolled your eyes and groaned. There was no use hiding now; either you came out or Dr. Browne came in and found you.  
You flung open the doors, shivering as your body readjusted to the change in temperature. "Sh- I mean... Dr. Murphy! You weren't supposed to tell her!"  
"You said not to tell her that you were hiding in the closet. But that's not the closet, that's the refrigerator."  
"And why, exactly, are you down in our lab?" Dr. Browne said accusingly.  
"I just needed to use the computer," you said. It was a lame excuse.  
"Okay. Sure. Right now, we need to get you back up to your bed. You're still newly sick, (Y/N), and you need a good night's sleep so we can take you off the drip in the morning. Do you understand?"  
You sighed. "Yea. I really am sorry, I was just curious."  
"Try not to worry too much- I might have done the same thing in your position. Besides, worrying might raise your blood sugar. Did you know that?"  
"Uh, no, I guess I didn't. What I'm thinking about and feeling can affect my diabetes?"  
"Oh yes, definitely. But you'll learn about all that at your classes this week."  
"I told you Claire was very good with feelings," Shaun put in helpfully. "She'll help you learn not to worry."  
"Thank you, Dr. Murphy," Dr. Browne said, giving him a meaningful look. "I think that's enough excitement for (Y/N) for one night."  
"Oh yes, we had a lot of excitement, Claire. We-"  
"Okay, I'm tired!" you practically shouted. "Sh- um, Dr. Murphy, you'll come check in on me later, right?" you asked.  
Dr. Browne looked at you suspiciously. "We were talking about diabetes, and I just had a few more questions," you lied easily.  
Shaun thought about your request. "Yes. Yes, I will come check in on you."

After Dr. Browne helped you wheel your IV and drip into the elevator and you two were riding up, she glanced at you nervously.  
"(Y/N), there's something you should know."  
You smirked. "Lay it on me. This day can't get much worse."  
"I can see that you've taken a liking to Dr. Murphy, and while he is a likable man, you should be careful. His actions and words can be hard to interpret."  
"I've noticed, but I think it just means he has a unique way of thinking. I like it."  
"(Y/N), he's autistic."  
You blinked. "Oh. Okay."  
Dr. Browne glanced again at your face. "Wow, that's it? Impressive."  
"Why, that's not the usual reaction?"  
"Not at all. We've had some patients seriously freak out when they learned Dr. Murphy was autistic. Kind of sad, really. This is supposed to be a world of equal opportunity and all that, but jerks keep getting in the way."  
You sighed. "Yea. I guess now that I have this disease, I'll understand that more than I want to."  
Dr. Browne was silent for a moment, then said, "You know, Dr. Murphy told me that you've had issues with depression... there's a very good therapist at this hospital, and I know you might not want me to bother you about it, but it might be a good idea to see her. Trust me."  
You shrugged, keeping your eyes focused on the changing numbers as your elevator climbed back up. "I dunno. I'll think about it."  
Why would Shaun tell Dr. Browne about that? Trust was important to you, and this was now the second time he'd told someone else something you'd told him as a secret.  
You were hurt. You couldn't be too mad at him because it probably had something to do with his autism. You knew now that he cared about you, so you could only hope that he was doing it out of concern instead of as a betrayal. Still, he should know better than anyone how terrible it was to be offered help when you didn't need it.

You were awoken the next morning by movement near the wires and tubes attached to your arms. You turned your head quickly, hoping to see Shaun but expecting Dr. Browne or Dr. Melendez. This was a new doctor, a really tall one with brown skin and sharp black hair, just as attractive as everyone else in this hospital. Seriously, how was everyone so attractive?  
"Hello (Y/N), my name is Dr. Jared Kalu," he introduced himself.  
He had a nice English accent and a calming voice. "How are you feeling today?"  
The nausea was pretty much completely gone and you were starting to feel a bit more like yourself, but there was an undertone of a strange feeling. It was kind of like tiredness but not, almost like a strange sort of numbness in your thinking. Your hand that was attached to the IV was shaking. "Uh... I feel... weird."  
"Yes, your blood sugar is starting to drop low," Dr. Kalu explained. "Your glucose is only at 95 so it's not too dangerous, but it's obviously dropped quite a bit so that's why you can feel it. You also haven't had anything to eat yet. We're bringing you breakfast right now."  
"Thank you," you said weakly.  
"The drop is just a result of being on the insulin drip all night. I'm going to remove it."  
He moved from the IV to the insulin drip and began undoing the bandages so he could get to the needle.  
"NO!"  
The curtain to your room was thrown open with a clatter and Dr. Kalu stopped, his hands hovering over you and frozen in position.  
"Dr. Murphy, is there something wrong?" he asked irritably.  
You sat up straighter, excited to see Shaun. "Hi!" You held up your other hand and waved excitedly.  
A look of surprised pleasure crept onto Shaun's face, happy that you were happy.  
"(Y/N) needs the insulin drip removed. Dr. Melendez said I was to do it," Dr. Kalu continued.  
"I'll do it," Shaun insisted.  
"No, Shaun, you've done enough. Just wait there for a minute. You can check her vitals once I'm done."  
Dr. Kalu returned to you, unwrapping more bandages with his thick fingers. You were a bit flustered by how close he was to you- he was clearly way out of your league. You willed your heart rate not to increase, but it didn't listen. Dr. Kalu glanced at the monitor and smirked.  
"Sorry, almost done," he said.  
Shaun glanced from you to the monitor and back again, clearly not liking how you were reacting to Dr. Kalu's nearness.  
He paced once across the room, and finally seemed unable to stand it any longer.  
"You're doing that wrong," he said, practically shouted, at Dr. Kalu.  
Dr. Kalu grunted. "Dr. Murphy, I am unwrapping bandages."  
"Yes, I know. Let me do it."  
Shaun marched towards you and Dr. Kalu moved out of the way reluctantly, shooting you an apologetic glance.  
You breathed out in relief as Shaun's hands took the place of Dr. Kalu's. They moved across your arm gently, making sure to remove the bandages quickly so they didn't hurt but also moving unnecessarily up near your shoulder and down to your fingers. You looked over to where Dr. Kalu had been standing, but he had luckily left the room.

Shaun's hand reached your fingers and ran along each one gently as if inspecting them. Your heart rate had not come down and only increased, if anything. Shaun glanced at the monitor, finally understanding. "Anxious in a good way," he said, raising your hand to his mouth and kissing it before quickly working to remove the insulin drip.  
"Last night, you said that kissing me is like surgery. Did that mean it was painful?"  
Shaun looked down at you, his blue eyes eager. "Kissing you is not really like surgery."  
"Ah... okay. Why'd you say that, then?"  
"When I perform a surgery, I use different tools to perform different operations. Some tools are for modifying tissue, some are for viewing tissue. When I use the tools, the body reacts in different ways." He glanced up at you.  
"Okaaaay?"  
He nodded happily.  
"When I kissed your hand, your body responded with a different reaction than when I kissed your mouth."  
Your face felt like it was on fire. You didn't want him to start scientifically analyzing how **other** parts of his body made you react.  
"Wow. That's good, Shaun," you said instead, trying not to let your breathy voice betray you.  
"I know."  
Shaun leaned over and moved your hair out of the way so he could kiss the side of your neck slowly.  
You made a strange noise that you'd only ever heard before on TV, clenching your fists into the bed sheets.  
Shaun nodded and pulled out a notepad, scribbling something down. "Are you taking notes?!" you gasped.  
"Yes. I need to track your reactions so I know which actions to replicate."

While you were trying feebly to reach for the notepad and get it out of his hands, a grandmotherly woman wheeling a tray entered your room.  
She wore a hair net, but her bushy gray curls were escaping its hold.  
"I believe someone's blood sugar is running low and she needs breakfast," she said knowingly.  
You'd heard horror stories about hospital food, but the egg and cheese sandwich on the tray before you didn't look half-bad. It was accompanied by a glass of water and an orange.  
"Now, Dr. Murphy here is going to keep track of what you eat because you may need insulin for some of it," she explained.  
"I thought I didn't need insulin anymore?" you asked, distressed.  
This was all so confusing.  
"You'll learn about it at your classes, dear," the woman tried to reassure you. "Let our doctors take care of you. For now, you need to eat."  
"I'm not too hungry," you lied. In reality, you were worried that eating would make you nauseous again.  
The woman pursed her lips, making the wrinkles on her forehead move up in concern.  
"Your blood sugar is low; I'm afraid you don't really have a choice. Besides, I made that for you. It's well-known that I have the best cooking skills in the hospital! You don't want to hurt my feelings."  
She reached over and gave your still-sore arm a friendly pat. Shaun flinched as she came near you, watching her suspiciously as if he expected her to haul off and hit you.

"You're jumpy today," you noted once she had left the room.  
Shaun ignored you, snatching up the orange from your tray and running his thumb over the bumps in the peel.  
"Hey!" you protested.  
That might have been the one thing you were going to eat. For some reason, whenever you felt sick, you always wanted to eat something fruity and fresh. It always felt safer to test your stomach's stability with that rather than something baked or savory.  
Shaun put the orange back down and set off with purpose.  
"Don't eat that!" he called back over his shoulder.  
You were left sitting alone, waiting curiously. He returned in only a few seconds with a handful of syringes in his hands, each one filled with some sort of clear liquid. He came right at you with them.  
"Ah!" You closed your eyes and scooted away, thinking he was going to stick you with them. Shaun snickered at you. "No," he said.  
You opened one eye and watched as he positioned one syringe against the orange.  
"Watch," he directed. "This is how to give injections. You asked me to show you." He brought the syringe and orange to you. "The syringe has numbers that mark the level of insulin. I am going to give this orange five units of insulin."  
You giggled. "Is the orange diabetic?"  
"(Y/N), I can see that you are trying to flirt with me, but this is important."  
You stopped laughing.  
"No, that was... that was a joke. I laughed because you're funny."  
"... Oh."  
Shaun stabbed the needle into the thin skin of the orange suddenly, pushing the plunger in up to the number five. He pulled it out quickly and a small hole was left in the peel at the site of the injection. You imagined your own arms and legs pocked with holes like the orange.  
As if he had read your thoughts, Shaun said, "Human skin is much thicker than an orange peel. Injections will not leave holes in your skin, but you will have lots of bruises and tissue scarring."  
He nodded as if this was pleasant news. "Once you have the artificial pancreas, you will have no scarring at all!" He plopped the ruined orange in your lap. "Your turn."  
You propped yourself up on one elbow and took the orange from him, injecting it with the remainder of the insulin.  
"Huh. That wasn't so hard."  
"Yes, the orange is a fruit with a soft texture. Its density is-"  
"No. Shaun." You couldn't keep yourself from smirking. "You're really adorable, you know that?"  
Shaun opened his mouth, either to retort back or continue his orange analysis when a knock came from outside of your room. That was the first time anyone had knocked- most of the doctors just pushed through the curtain and started hammering you with questions.  
It was Dr. Browne. She smiled warmly at you. It seemed that she was pleased about you spending so much time with Shaun, although you weren't sure why. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and he seemed happy spending time alone.  
Unless he didn't like being alone, but was unable to express it somehow...?  
This diabetes had really screwed with your life, but one thing it had done was introduce you to Shaun Murphy. You were grateful for that.  
"(Y/N), there's a seminar about carbohydrate counting starting in a few minutes," Dr. Browne said. "Are you ready to attend?"  
You hesitated. You weren't sure. It was true that you'd spent your whole life working to make your own way and throwing your all into everything, but it had proven to be too much and you'd ended up throwing your all into depression instead. What if diabetes was just another breaking point for you?  
You had become an element of chemistry. You had a boiling point and a melting point, except yours were two breaking points. When your family abandoned you and life gave you crap, you broke. When you pulled yourself out of it and made your own way, life still gave you crap, and you broke. So what if this was it? What if you had run out of seams to sew back together?  
You could already hear the criticisms and blame coming from your family, the harsh judgments from the rest of the world. "You haven't been taking care of yourself. See what it's like out in the real world? Not so easy, is it?" your older brother would say mockingly. You felt tears begin to well up in your eyes, and then on impulse, you looked at Shaun. He was watching you, staring right at you since he knew you weren't looking back. As soon as your eyes met, he looked away, but you'd seen something familiar there.  
This man had certainly fought through all sorts of criticisms and judgments for his autism, and he was still standing here. Not just that, he'd become a doctor and a surgeon, proved his worth. If he could do it, you could, too. You nodded decidedly but couldn't find the words to tell Dr. Browne that you were ready.  
For once, Shaun found them for you.  
"(Y/N) is smart. It's taken her an understandable period of adjustment, but she is emotionally prepared to learn. She can do it."  
Dr. Browne held out her hand to help you out of bed, but Shaun beat her to it, steadying you against his chest as you stood. His heartbeat seemed to move in time with yours.  
You gave Dr. Browne a thumbs-up. "Yea. I can do it."

**Author's Note:**

>  **(Author's Note): Although I am a Type 1 Diabetic, I am not a medical professional. If you think you may have diabetes, please see a doctor.**  
>  If you'd like to learn more about my own personal experiences with Type 1, you can leave comments or ask me any questions. No question about diabetes will make me uncomfortable- I've had it for 10 years and I've heard them all!
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> **Also, I'd just like to clarify that everything in this story regarding diabetes is true to my knowledge. I have gone through most of this stuff myself, with the exception of the insulin drip. I was never on an insulin drip, but I do believe that diabetics in ketoacidosis or in diabetic comas have to be on one. (Y/N) did not actually have ketoacidosis, she was just dangerously close to it, so she might not have needed a drip irl. Not quite sure.**  
>  Also, the artificial pancreas. It is real, but it is very experimental, and I don't think it's made using a 3D printer. I sort of implied that (Y/N) would need surgery to get the new pancreas, but I don't think that's true irl, either. The real artificial pancreas is still in early testing stages and it could be years before they're commonly used.
> 
>  
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> **(Author's Note 2): If you think (Y/N) and Shaun's relationship moved kind of fast, this is a oneshot! That's supposed to happen, haha! Strangers in oneshots fall in love- that's the point of reading one, to fall in love with a familiar character usually presented as a stranger.**
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> **I hope you all liked it! I know The Good Doctor is a fairly new show, so if you haven't watched it yet, I recommend 10/10!**


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